


Dinner?

by tigereyes45



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Could be seen as platonic between hawke and varric or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Cullen has seen Varric moping around in the same spot by the fireplace for days now. After Hawke's death he knew Varric had taken it hard, but the dwarf was no longer going on quests or even really speaking to people. Actually if he thinks about it, he had not really taken the time to mourn the loss of Hawke. Perhaps they had not always been close, but Cullen knows both of the men could use some pleasant company for the night.





	Dinner?

It was early. Much earlier than he had expected to see the aging dwarf up and about. Still standing vigil next to the fire where he usually resided. How long has he been there now? Just staring at the flames. His eyes only ever glance away when the inquisitor tries to talk to him, or when someone brings him a glass of water and a refilled ink cup. The way his eyes seem hollow, and unfocused. The dwarf was wrestling with demons. Demons that carry the voices of ghost with them. Cullen knew the feelings. He had experienced much worst first hand, but had he ever lost a friend as close to him as Varric had?

“Tethras?” The former templar was unsure as to why he was calling out to the rogue. A man he hasn’t spoken to directly without others around since Kirkwall’s chantry was destroyed. Yet here he was, watching a, well not wonderful man, but a kind man waste away.

Slowly, with an effort that was too much for such a small move, Varric turns to face the man he used to call Curly while at Hawke’s heels. He was not a young man then, but he had never seemed more of his age as he did not. Cullen felt unsure of what to say. How could he provide comfort to a man that not even the inquisitor manage to reassure. She was much better with people, especially with her companions, then he.

“Yes?”

He hadn’t used the nickname. “You, uh-hem. Sorry I am not use to you not using your pet name for me. It is odd.”

“Curly? I thought you hated it.”

“I did. Well do, but I know only you and the others who had been there, in Kirkwall, would use it.” Cullen says in an attempt to clarify.

“Careful, you may invoke her ghost to come back and haunt you if she knew what you just said. You basically just gave her permission to call you Curly, Cullen.” The her he was referring to was Hawke, of course. There was no room for doubt of that. Not for two men that had spent the better part of six years at the least.

“She was,”

“Stop.” Varric feebly raises his hand up. The signs of a writer evident by the ink smudges on his palm, and the way his fingertips still seem to somewhat curl as the rest of his palm remains straight. “Don’t force yourself to say nice pleasantries. I’ve heard enough of them.” As Varric’s cold voice cracks Cullen glances down at the paper in his hand. Perhaps the inquisitor could wait for it. It was not as if she had returned from another adventure into the Hitherlands again.

“Varric, would you like to go out and get a drink?” The commander offers, hoping the dwarf would accept.

“I don’t drink templar.” Cullen does not flinch at Varric’s tone. “I never did. My mother was an awful drunk so I never touched the stuff. Hawke and Isabella often tried, but it was never my cup of tea.”

So that was why he was only brought water. Cullen looks down at the empty mugs on the table. Torn up paper spread out between them. Some were stained with water, other circles from the mugs. He has not left this spot in days, not even to return to his room for a night’s rest. Has he even been sleeping?

“For a meal then. On me. The inquisitor is not yet back, and I have a free moment. I believe it would do me some good to have pleasant company for a meal.” Cullen insists.

“Listen, I know what,”

“I’m not trying anything Varric. I only want to share a meal with an old companion who has seen and gone through the events of Kirkwall and the inquisition first hand just as I have.” Cullen explains tying his words around Varric so the dwarf would have no good reason to say no.

Cullen knew the games Hawke and Varric would play. With each other, their friends, enemies, and allies. Words layered upon word after word. Always telling and wrapping around anyone who they spoke to. They would speak circles around everyone but each other. Always trying to tie each other up. Cullen could tell anyone who asked that the two friends were the best wordsmiths he had ever seen. So occasionally Cullen would try his hand. He often lost, but he was growing better.

A light passes through Varric’s eyes and for a moment Cullen believes he has won. “You’ve been taking lessons from Ruffles?”

“Working so closely were her and spymaster Leliana has taught me that I needed to improve my speech.” Cullen answers with a sigh. He has lost this 

“You still need improvement.” Varric chides. His voice growing quieter, colder. The writer turns his eyes back to the fire. Slowly, with care, Varric picks up the fire iron from nearby his feet. Cullen always forgets how short Varric really is until he sees how little Varric has to bend to pick up anything from the floor. As Varric moves the logs that were currently beginning to burn a pale white ash, Cullen turns to take his leave.

“Did you know that Hawke knew of you before she met you?” The question halts the Ferelden.

“What?” Cullen asks confused.

“Her cousin. Amell was in the tower. Apparently she disappeared sometime right before the blight began. Right before warden Surana became the elven mage to save everyone. You fancied the elf, right?”

A blush creeps along Cullen face. Varric gives him a short glance at from over his shoulder.

“Word gets around templar.” Varric states saying templar a little more menacing now. “Apparently Amell had wrote a letter to her family stating the names of all the templars and some of the mages she was worried wouldn’t pass their Harrowing. Hawke told me that she made a terrible game guessing who would kill each mage if they didn’t pass. Worst part was she had placed herself on that list. Hawke knew who you were because of that list.” Varric states. “She didn’t tell me until around a year or so after I met you. Heavy drinking that night. Anniversary of Bethaney’s death and all. By that point Carver was already gone and a grey warden himself.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Your eyes were always set on the job, except when you had them on a warden. You never noticed the way either of the cousins looked at you I imagine. I don’t know about Amell, but Hawke often told me that if she were to die it would be in a blaze of glory. Not even death by Arishok would have been good enough for her, but when she saw you. When you were around and not looking, behind her smile, her eyes held fear. None she ever graced any other living being with, not even the dragons, just you. What do you think that means?”

“It means she knew I would do it, if I had thought it best.” Cullen answers as he tightens his fist.

“I think it means there was something else in that letter.” Varric informs him. “Yet it could also mean that she use to think her death would be you. A friend, killing her. She did regard you as such, even if you did not. Everyone was a friend to Hawke.”

“Not many treated her as such.” Cullen whispers, catching Varric’s eye. He almost wants to ask, where were your eyes Varric? Were they always on Hawke? Did he see or realize what everyone else saw in his dedication to the champion.

“Anyways I guess my point was she would have prefered a death much different than what I delivered to her.”

“You didn’t deliver her to death.” Cullen pleas through gritted teeth.

“I brought her here. I signed the letter, and I ran in the fade.”

“On orders.”

“We both know some orders are not worth listening too.”

Cullen was reaching his limit. “Varric as commander of all the arm forces within the inquisition I formally request you come have a meal for me privately in my quarters. After such distressing news you owe me a better explanation.”

Varric looks him up and down before shrugging. “I can’t say no to an order, can I?”

“Not this one.”

“I’ll be there.”

Shaking his head Cullen begins to walk away, wondering how such a small request had become such distressing revelations. Honestly he was just attempting in his own way to console the dwarf. If anything his reaction had told him well enough the reasons why the dwarf had been successful in being left alone. Cullen wasn’t even sure if Varric was telling the truth or lying but neither thought was relieving. Still perhaps both men needed this. Throughout the day Cullen makes sure that while his daily duties were done, that the two of them would be able to eat quietly in his room without interruption.

So when Cullen’s doors open and he is greeted with a sarcastic remark he knew who it was immediately. “If you wanted a practice date for the inquisitor you could have always asked Cassandra. Well, maybe Josephine.” For a moment Cullen recalls a memory of a tall, black haired, green eyed beauty who was leaning on the frame of his door. Using almost the same joke. Blood still on her face from the fight that had been days earlier.

“I’m sure Dorian would be thrilled by an invitation.” Varric continues.

“This isn’t a date Varric. It is a meal.”

“Dinner. In your room. While the bright orange sky begins to turn dark. Sounds like a date, though the location isn’t very romantic as far as dates go.”

“Well at least you are smiling now. The jokes show you are slowly returning from the tragedy. Welcome to the land of the living.” Cullen tries, but he knew his joke fell flat as Varric sighs heavily.

“Really Curly, you can do better.”

“Take your plate and sit down.” The commander grumbles as he sits back into his own chair.

“As Commander it is my job to makes rue all the soldiers are healthy. With such revelations you gave me earlier I realize there was one you did not give. Tell me Varric, how long do you plan to remain there?”

“Where? In this chair? Well until my food is done I suppose.”

“We both know that is not what I meant.”

“What you meant isn’t funny Curly. I thought you wanted this to be a fun night?”

“I want to make sure you are coping healthily. I thought you were just going to call me templar forever.”

“No. I was bitter. Getting up there in age, or so Hawke says.” A pause filling the room with an almost tangible sadness. “Said.” Varric corrected.

“Has her brother responded?”

“Yes. Junior is hiding out with Aveline. Apparently Hawke had her friend find her brother and take him away from all this nonsense. So he is angry. Goes from asking of his sister to blaming her for not being more careful. Then he just asks me again and again if it’s true. In different ways. The boy knows how to make use of his letter space.”

“Aveline?”

“She is, coping. From what I hear. Donnic is watching over Kirkwall as she babysits Junior.”

They both begin to eat there food. Neither one sure of what else to say. “Was she really scared of me?”

“I don’t know. Never asked her.”

“You knew her better than anyone Varric. She was a good person. A good mage. I admired her. When she came to Skyhold she was so different. YEt as soon as she saw me the first thing I heard was, “Curly! Don’t tell me there’s a tower here too!’ and then it was like she was back to her old self. The one running around, getting into trouble, and setting random bandits on fire.” Cullen smiles at Varric.

“You knew that was her?”

“Of course.” They share a laugh.

“We will all miss her.”

“No. We will miss her. The ones who knew her would miss her. Everyone else, they have the legend. That’s all many of them ever wanted anyways.”

“A legend you created. In a way you have preserved her Varric.”

A sharp laugh. “Thank you Curly, but that person in the stories. That was just a small part of Hawke.”

Cullen mulls over that in silence. “I will admit. I did not read much of your books. Mainly just the parts about the foolish young templar and the crazy leader.” He smiles sadly at the thought of Meredith. “I will say this. You were very thorough in your description of her. In her behavior and personality.”

“I had been watching her for years.” Varric concludes for Cullen.

“There were a few men I knew back when I first became a templar. We were all young and I can not even remember their faces or voices anymore. Let alone all the smaller stuff they did. Just vacant holes in memories that I know should hold something there. A toast. To old friends, who are gone and missed.”

“Aye, to old friends.” The rest of the night they switch between causal conversations, and in depth analyses of Kirkwall’s bandits. At one point they even discussed the rat problem Hawke had accidently fixed for the people of the upper distract. They spoke of old friends, old times, and how they themselves were growing old. Varric told stories that Cullen was not sure if they were  true or not. They spoke of lost youth, and loves. Long into the night they were still together sharing, laughing, solemn quiet moments, loud boisterous laughter. It was the first time in a long the time the two had enjoyed company in such a way that they needed.


End file.
